


Feeling Green, Feeling Blue

by poolsidescientist



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Development, Gen, Minor Original Character(s), St. Patrick's Day, sort of sequel to my previous fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 01:13:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10349106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poolsidescientist/pseuds/poolsidescientist
Summary: Saint Patrick's Day is a hard day for a recovering alcoholic in a new city, or so Greg discovers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Was listening to 'Greg's Drinking Song' and it made me think so instead of studying I wrote this. Thank you for reading. I do not own this series but am always fond of feedback good or bad.

Saint Patrick’s day might have been the single worst day of the year to be a recovering alcoholic. After a stressful exam in the afternoon, most, if not all of Greg’s classmates were out drinking. Any other year he would have joined them. But Greg’s sobriety was more important than his social life. It was a difficult decision but here he was, staring blankly at his computer screen, scrolling through social media like an awkward lonely creep.

Greg closed his eyes and sighed, remembering the smell of Home Base at four am the day after Saint Patrick’s day. Every year was the same. Vomit and every other imaginable bodily fluid dried on the floor, the walls, and every available surface in and around the bar. Broken glasses and furniture that had been thrown and smashed sat stuck to the floor in a sea of trampled green paraphernalia and regret. No human should ever be forced to see that. No human should ever be forced to clean that, especially for minimum wage. Greg shuddered at the memory, but some sick, self-hating part of himself missed the place.

Okay, not the place. Not really the place, nobody actually misses ‘Home Base’. But he missed the atmosphere and the ritual that Greg always tried to convince himself he was above. He was the smug bartender. That was his thing. He was used to it and he was good at it. Emory was a struggle. Everyone seemed smarter than him, he was the one struggling to keep up. There was nothing to be smug about here, and no more rituals of alcoholism to lean on during difficult times. Instead, Greg was forced to be honest, with other people, but more importantly with himself. It was necessary, but sometimes it really sucked.

Not only did drinking make Greg feel better about the world, but it was a part of so many social events. Scrolling through social media was painful, not only could he not drink but he didn’t trust himself to go places where alcohol was featured prominently. Bars, clubs, concerts, festivals, all out of the question for now. At least he wasn’t in West Covina right now. Darryl had thrown a party at his apartment. He and White Josh were even wearing matching outfits. Hector had made a little hat for Bruno, matching those worn by Hector and his mom. Among the 45 pictures of Darryl and White Josh cuddling together was one of a sleepy Hector cuddling with the frightened cat. It would be the first Saint Patrick’s day of Bruno’s life where he didn’t get puked on or tripped over. Looking back, Greg cringed thinking of his past behavior. He should have probably been arrested for cruelty to animals.

White Josh and Hector weren’t the only people Greg knew at that party. Rebecca, Heather, and Valencia all wore sequined greened dresses and posed for pictures together. The looked like a girl group. Greg was wise enough to fear them. He wondered how the three of them became friends. The three of them had little in common, Valencia especially tended to dislike other women. But something had changed and they looked happy. Despite her stoic nature, Heather seemed generally pleased. Rebecca looked like herself. Greg scrolled down to avoid looking at too many pictures of her. He thought of her about as much as the green jello shots they were downing in some of the photos. Under different circumstances he might have been there with her. At that though he scrolled down the page, Guardrail had warned him about his lingering thoughts. It was best not to dwell on them.

In a separate photo, Josh Chan and Father Brah were drinking guinness on a balcony somewhere without a care in the world. His best friend since he was five years old. They were so different, sometimes the only thing they had in common was their proficiency for ruining the lives of the people around them. Still, he missed the guy. Out of all his friends from West Covina, Josh was the hardest to keep in touch with. Even Charter school Chris skyped him on a regular basis. The kid was happy. Everyone in West Covina was happy without him. The town Greg had spent most of his life in was no worse off without him. And as much as Greg hated to admit it, that hurt.

Upon checking the time, he realised he had been scrolling through social media for over an hour. It was time to shut his laptop down and walk away from it. Change was hard. So much of Greg’s life had been devoted to trying not to let things in. Trying not to let things hurt him. Failure was frightening. The possibility of it more so. But sometimes caring is necessary, especially caring about yourself. Or so his wise, elderly, and tea-obsessed neighbour Mariyam had told him. Mariyam loved holidays and had offered him some of her favourite matcha tea if he wanted some after his exam. Staring at the leftover shamrock-shaped cookies from last night’s Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, Greg decided they might go well with tea and company. He was in a new city building a new life for himself, maybe it was time to start some new traditions as well.


End file.
